


Someone Else

by Spadesjade



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Break Up, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2682704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spadesjade/pseuds/Spadesjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens, it's nobody's fault. But it still isn't an easy thing to walk away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Else

"We need to talk."  
You had never felt so bad in your entire life. Truthfully, you never expected to be the one to say those words. Truthfully, you always expected him to break up with you, not the other way around.  
You never understood what Tom saw in you, but you had lived long enough to know that love was strange. He was a mature human being, who knew his own heart and mind. He was not the kind to flit idly from relationship to relationship. There were few women who could withstand the burden of being on the arm of the Tom Hiddleston, and while you had never been sure you were the one who could, somehow you inspired him to finally ask someone to try.  
But now it was out. You had the strange satisfaction of at least being able to tell the truth to him directly. He didn't have to find out through tabloids or gossip sites. You were honest, even if had taken you a while to be honest. You hadn't gone behind his back, you hadn't humiliated him publicly.  
You still, however, broke his heart.  
You could see it in his stance. His back was to you, his hands on his hips. He'd been silent for a good five minutes, probably absorbing the shock. Trying to believe it. The shift of his shoulders belayed the weariness he felt, the hurt. The last look on his face before he turned away had been enough to bring the tears to your cheeks that you had been holding back. If he was crying too...if he turned back with those blue eyes bright with pooling tears, you didn't know if you would be able to stand it.  
But the silence was killing you. Your head sought to fill it with echoes of your words. There's someone else. I thought, at first, I only liked him because he reminded me of you, but after a while I realized that...I was in love with him. I felt like a traitor, and I tried to fight it, but I can't. Tom. I can't live like this anymore. I can't keep lying to you, feeling guilty every time you kiss me and I wish you were someone else. That isn't fair to you, I have to do right by you.  
Amazing how in the most dire of circumstances all that came out of your mouth was a bunch of overused tripe bullshit. There was no way to put it that was unique or elegant or comforting. There was no right way to break someone's heart. There was only the ugly, plain truth.  
Naturally, your mind seeks to exonerate you, find reasons to justify yourself. It's a defense mechanism, and it partially works. Tom is married to his work, like a typical Aquarius. You are a Pisces, and you are needy, you crave reassurance, you are sensitive. Tom can be aloof at times, his mind so absorbed in his ideas that it almost feels like he forgets you. In the beginning it worked, though, the way your softness and eagerness to please was taken by his charm and charisma. He suddenly became the center of your dream world, but it was hard to be the center of the universe when he had to constantly be absent.  
A few weeks here and there were enough placate you, because in spite of your neediness you had a strong independent streak that had sustained itself long before he came into your life, and you were determined to maintain that. You had always been an introvert and needed your own time and space, and hoped that his frequent absences would allow you to preserve that and make the gap less painful.  
Such things do not always work. His absences became gaping, raw holes in your life. Weeks were lifeless unless you could see his return on the horizon. Joyous reunions were then tainted by the fact that he would be off again, filming this, rehearsing for that, and even when he was present he was still the working actor, building his well, throwing things inside for the next character, getting into the headspace.  
It had worked for a long as it did because you had willed it to work. He seemed blissfully happy, saying all the right things to you when you were separated, telling you he missed you, he loved you, he needed you. He would appear for random weekends to keep the separations from becoming too long, convincing you that he did truly love you even though his first love would always be his work. You were not a second, or at least not a distant second.  
But the gaps...they left holes. And John fit right into the holes. Eventually, your head was turned, and apparently Tom could not keep up the fervor of reassurance, and the constant need for it seemed to wear him down.  
He was turning around. You raised your eyes, shaking your head from memories you found to be painful little spikes, now. Oh God, his eyes were just how you'd imagined them, and a sob wrenched your throat, anguish at hurting him. You didn't want to hurt him, you wanted him to see that it was better this way, that he was waning, too, and that it was inevitable. Yes, break-ups hurt but wasn't he the positive one? Wasn't he the one to always see the opportunity for new experiences to come?  
It was bullshit. There was no way he could ever be happy about your breaking up with him. Manly pride or no, the way he looked at you now made it perfectly clear that even if his stamina had worn down, his heart had not.  
"Why?" he whispered, those lips of his moist with his tears. He licked at them in his nervous habit, pulling them into his mouth until they nearly disappeared.  
You blinked, pushing more of your own tears down your cheeks. "Why what, Tom?"  
"Why did you fall in love with him?" He took a few steps toward you and stopped. "Was it because you stopped loving me? What did I do to make you stop?"  
You shook your head. "You didn't do..." No, that was a lie, you couldn't say it. You shrugged. "You didn't do anything on purpose," you amended. "And there wasn't any one thing. It's hard, being with you when so much of you is divided. And--" you held out a hand, raising your voice as his brow darkened and the inevitable storm of self-defense started to brew on his lips, because he, too, had good reason to be the way he was. "And!" you pressed on, "I don't blame you for any of that! That's who you are, your career, your path in life! I know you have to make your mark now, I know you have only so much time before the best roles aren't offered to you anymore, and I want you to have that! You deserve that!"  
"But I don't deserve you," he said, forlorn. Staring at you as if you were some precious thing he was being denied.  
"That's not...it's not a question of deserving me," you explain, taking heavy breaths to smother the lump in your throat. You spread your hands, helpless. "You didn't do anything wrong, Tom. Nothing."  
"I did," he said, coming even closer, his hand reaching down and his fingers curling underneath your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek and streaking the tear marks. "I lost you."  
You stood up, knowing it would only help a little, as you would never be on the same eye level, and knowing Tom it was a matter of time before he was on his knees in front of your chair, and that was just too much. You grasped his hands, but his fingers were limp in your grip. "You didn't...it's not like that," you struggle to explain. "It just happened. I'm the one in the wrong here. But I can't stay with you anymore, it's not fair to you, you deserve someone who can be devoted to you."  
"I wanted it to be you," he whispers, leaning over you, but as he would so many times lean over in this way before kissing you, he stopped just short, staring down at you with those bright, teary eyes. He released one hand from your grip and ran it through your hair, pushing it back.  
"There are so many, Tom," you start, but this just sparks his anger, and his jaw clenches as he flinches back.  
"Don't," he growls. "Don't tell me that there are women lined up for me. I'm so sick of hearing that." He breaks from you, turning away, his shoulders shifting as the tension gets the better of him. "Do you have any idea how hard it is?" he snaps, spinning back, his hand making a sweeping motion. "How difficult it is to navigate...to try and figure out when it's okay to let down your guard and let someone in?"  
You nod. You knew. You knew your privileged position and you were giving it up. You were a fool but your heart wouldn't abide any other option. How could you leave this perfect man? He protested that he was not, but when he was with you he was gracious, and attentive, and you still couldn't look at him too long without blushing, he was so damn beautiful.  
"I'm sorry," you whisper. There isn't anything else to say.  
He deflates. "I didn't mean that...I didn't mean to make you think you'd wasted my time. That isn't why I'm angry. I'm angry because I love you and you don't love me back anymore."  
You press your hands to your cheeks, willing yourself to stop crying, that it will only make it harder on him, more painful to him, who can't stand to see anyone in distress, let alone you.  
"I'm so sorry," you whisper again, shaking your head.  
A tiny little smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "And people tell me I apologize too much." He crosses to you again, puts his hands on your shoulders. "I'm not going to pretend this is okay. I don't want to let you go without a fight. But I look at your face and I know I'm going to lose. I'm not going to be a gracious loser, I'm not going to just let you walk out without one last thing."  
And then he pulls you all the way in and kisses you.  
It's a kiss like your first kiss with him. It surprises you and takes your breath way and makes you shiver in every single part of your body. But it does not make your heart skip a beat like it did that first time, it does not make your breath ragged and your cheeks burn. It's different.  
He pulls away, looks down at you, places his hands on either side of your face and gently kisses your forehead.  
"Goodbye, darling," he whispers. He lets go, takes a step back. His eyes are angry. "You should go before I do something I regret."  
You nod. You grab your coat and your purse and head for the door. He calls your name and you stop, and you know if you look at him, you will feel the exact same pain he is feeling, you will almost wish that you could stop yourself, that you will take it back and throw yourself at him and beg him to forget everything you just said.  
Yet you look anyway.  
And it doesn't happen.  
You don't feel it. As you look at him, in all his beauty, you know that you are right. You should leave.  
"I'm sorry," he says.  
You nod. "I'm sorry too," and with a sigh you pull the door open and leave for good.  
You do not see him again. It takes a long time before you can bring yourself to look at his face on the television, or even the internet. But you do not regret being with him. And you do not regret leaving him.  
It ran its course. And now it was over.


End file.
